


Good Clean Fun

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Shower Sex, Thiefshipping, battle city au-ish, but pretty much thiefshipping, kinda tornshipping, you can thank the new hygiene rule for this fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 20:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: "This is a new section, requiring all persons attending a tournament to be clean and wear clean clothing. If you or your clothing is excessively dirty or bad-smelling, you can be penalized."Quick pwp in a world where the new hygiene rule for Yu-Gi-Oh applied for Battle City.





	Good Clean Fun

**Author's Note:**

> For all practical pwp purposes let's assume everyone is 18 in this fic, since it's a parallel universe anyway where the hygiene rule was established decades earlier than irl (that the characters are 18+ should always be assumed in all my pwp drabbles, but just so ppl can't complain, I'm Officially Stating It).

Bakura’s sneakers scuffed the grass and dirt of the grave yard, kicking up the deep, rich smell of the earth. He grit his teeth as he walked from the cemetery to the stadium where his locator cards indicated he should go. He wouldn’t admit it hurt, but his wound had torn during the duel, and blood curled down his arm and dripped from his fingers. The drops left a macabre trail through the graveyard, which amused and delighted his peculiar host. 

The growl of a motorcycle behind Bakura announced Malik's presence. Circling around, Malik parked the bike so it blocked Bakura's path.

"What now?" Bakura asked, his voice deadpan.

"I hope you're almost finished collecting locator cards. We're running out of time." 

"Please. I gathered five half an hour ago, but it's a long walk." 

"We can't be seen arriving together, but I suppose I could drop you off a block away." Malik tilted his head, gesturing for Bakura to climb onto the bike. 

"Such generosity. I'm beside myself." 

"Shut up and get on." Malik snorted. 

Bakura mounted behind Malik and they sped through the streets. Malik pulled over in front of a cheesy, tourist-infested "love hotel" a few blocks from where they needed to go.

"Stay here, I'll be right back with the key." Malik marched to the office building before Bakura could protest. He returned five minutes later whirling a key around his finger.

"I...don't think we have time for a nap?" Bakura raised an eyebrow, wondering what the fuck Malik was up to _this time_. 

"This place rents by the hour, and you need a shower," Malik said.

"Excuse me?" 

"Haven't you noticed you're bleeding all over yourself? And you're covered in dirt! What the fuck were you doing anyway? Digging a shallow grave for us to dump Yugi into after the tournament?" 

"As a matter of fact…" Bakura smirked. "I _was _in a cemetery before you found me." 

"Well you _smell_ like it." Malik wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

"_You _don't smell any better! Motor oil, the pier, and something feral that I believe is your natural musk, blend it all together and you have _Eau de Ishtar_." 

"We don't have time to argue, you fool. Come on." Malik grabbed Bakura's shirt and dragged him into the room.

It wasn't much different than a regular hotel. Red lights set the mood and a few _unique _pieces of furniture lined the walls, but otherwise Bakura wasn't impressed with their supposed _love nest_.

"I don't see why it even matters. I'm not trying to impress anyone during this duel," Bakura's statement was specifically aimed at Malik. 

Bakura scowled as Malik adjusted the shower temperature. He appreciated modern showers and enjoyed grooming as much as the next gay duelist, but they had a pharaoh to kill. They could self-care with a bubble bath once his royal pain-in-the-ass suffered in the Shadow Realm. 

"Didn't you read the tournament rules?" Malik dropped his pants. "Anyone who shows up to a tournament smelling like a neck-bearded, basement-dwelling internet troll gets disqualified." 

"Goddammit, Kaiba." Bakura pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"After you." Malik gestured to the stand-up shower unit.

With a loud huff of breath, Bakura stripped, tied his hair up, and stepped beneath the hot water. His jaw dropped when Malik stepped behind him.

"What are you doing?" Bakura turned to glare at Malik, but Malik grabbed Bakura's shoulders and kept him facing the tiled wall. "Relax. It'll be quicker if we double up. Besides…" Malik leaned close, whispering into Bakura's ear. "Don't you want someone to scrub your back?" 

Before Bakura could answer, Malik grabbed the bar of hotel soap and worked lather across Bakura's shoulders and back. Sliding his fingers around Bakura's ribs, Malik kneaded his chest, pulling Bakura closer. Bakura bite his lower lip, suppressing a pleased grunt as Malik explored his body. 

"Do we have time for this?" Bakura glanced at Malik out of the corner of his eye. His voice was calm, revealing nothing, but his stomach hitched and his host whined in delight, begging in the back of their mind for Bakura not to ruin the moment. 

"You would still be walking had I not collected you." 

"Collected," Bakura repeated. Malik spoke as if Bakura was another card to add to his deck. "Is this how you usually collect Ghouls to work for you?"

"If I wanted another mind slave, I have the Rod." Malik's fingers worked lower, teasing Bakura's stomach. 

"But would the Rod work on _me_?" Bakura smirked.

"I'm not sure that it would. Which is why this game is more fun with _you _than any of my other servants." 

"I'm flattered." Bakura snorted.

"Would you rather I stop?" Malik worked his lips against the nape of Bakura's neck. “Because I will if you want.” 

Bakura's eyes lidded. He held his breath to prevent himself from moaning. 

"The host seems rather excited, and it's his body, so we might as well." Bakura shrugged.

"Oh yes. Wouldn't want to disappoint the host." Malik spun Bakura around, slamming his back against the tile. He leaned close, almost pressing his lips against the Ring. "Would we, Ryou?" 

Ryou flushed at the attention, making Bakura flush. Luckily, the steam and heat from the shower already had his complexion rosey, so Bakura didn't worry about Malik noticing. A shape appeared in front of the fogged glass. Bakura tensed, but Malik merely opened the door and grabbed the bottle of lube from the Ghoul's hand.

"Really?" Bakura frowned as the minion disappeared again. “Not very modest, are you?” 

"They're not aware of what they're doing or what's around them. They're simply following my orders."

"Still…" 

"Well, I wasn't going to go to the store and buy it myself. I have more important things to do."

"Me, apparently." Bakura snickered at his own joke.

The shower walls had several handles and ledges for various positions. Bakura grabbed two of the handles and pulled himself higher. He propped each foot on a ledge, spreading himself wide for Malik. He enjoyed the glazed look in Malik's eyes as he shamelessly stared at Bakura's stolen body. 

Malik coated Bakura's cock first, teasing the shaft until it was hard and swollen. Next he slipped a finger into Bakura's asshole. A gasp slipped past Bakura as Malik searched for—and found—his prostate. 

"_Mmmm_, I wish we had more time. I could spend the entire hour tormenting you until you begged me to take you," Malik purred.

"There's always the post-tournament after-party." Bakura winked.

"True." Malik hummed as he added a second finger.

"_Oh…_" Bakura gasped. "Fuck." 

"You sound ready." Malik guided his cock into Bakura's body.

Malik teased his tip along the rim of Bakura’s asshole. After half a minute of teasing, he entered, sliding all the way in on the first thrust. Bakura cried out as Malik's girth stuffed him. On instinct, Bakura coiled his arms around Malik's shoulders. His fingers brushed against the familiar texture of scarred flesh, and Malik balked.

"What the hell are you doing?" He pulled out of Bakura and set Bakura on his feet, reaching behind his shoulder as if to cover it.

"Holding on?" Bakura gave Malik an incredulous look. He was too far gone in the moment to think of or care why Malik was being so particular. 

"Hold the handles," Malik ordered.

"My arms were getting tired," Bakura snapped. 

Malik's gaze skirted around the shower cubicle, as if searching for some sort of answer. A heavy silence built between them. Bakura rubbed the scars on his chest.

"You know, it's no big deal. You've already seen mine—"

"No." Malik scowled.

"Fine." Bakura sighed. “But I don’t care, so you shouldn’t let it bother you.” 

“No,” Malik repeated, softer, rueful. 

“Here.” Bakura dropped to his hands and knees. The shower spray dampened his hair, but Bakura ignored it. They’d started, and now he was eager to keep going. He wanted Malik inside him again, and he wanted it immediately.

"On our knees? In a cheap motel shower?" Malik winced.

"Malik Ishtar, shove your cock into my ass and fuck my brains out right now or I will jerk myself off and go to the finals without you." 

"Can you at least stand?" Malik said, a slight whine in his voice. 

Bakura rolled his eyes, but stood and rested his forearms on one of the thin ledges. He stood spread-legged, sticking his ass out.

"Here. Hurry damnit." 

Malik wrapped his arms around Bakura's torso and kissed Bakura's back. Malik grabbed his cock, stoked himself hard, and pressed into Bakura's ass. Bakura's breath hitched; his eyes fluttered shut. Malik rocked back and forth, giving up all notions of teasing Bakura. Each exhale was a delighted huff of breath. By slow degrees, Malik's body relaxed and he sank against Bakura's back, slamming his hips a little more languidly. 

Bakura bit his bottom lip, enjoying each lulling sway and the wet slap their bodies made when they met at the end of each thrust. He squeezed around Malik's width, grunting when Malik struck his prostate. Locked together, their breath exhaled in audible sighs as they moved—Malik shoving forward and Bakura hitching backward. 

"Fuck... you're so...hot…" Malik growled, lips pressed against Bakura's spine. "Tight..._nghh!_" 

"Don't you dare—finish—already," Bakura gasped. "I want more." 

Malik jerked Bakura a little closer, going slow but deep as he thrusted. In Bakura’s mind, Ryou screamed in pleasure. It was so intense, so erotic, that Bakura parted his lips and allowed those screams to echo off the tiled walls. Malik's hands kneaded Bakura's chest. He gave Bakura's nipple a quick pinch before gliding his hand down Bakura's belly.

"_Ah! Ahh! Ahh!_" Bakura hitched his groin high, silently demanding Malik to touch him.

Malik danced his fingers to Bakura's dick, curling them around his shaft and tugging upward. 

"Fuck! Yes!" Bakura's knees buckled.

Malik held him upright, but he eventually gave up and allowed both their knees to touch the shower floor—his earlier distaste for hotel shower floors forgotten. Malik thrusts grew rapid, rabid. His nails pinched Bakura’s left hip and his right hand stroked Bakura’s cock. Bakura rounded his back, slamming backwards to meet Malik’s thrusts. He froze, gooseflesh covering his pale skin despite the steam surrounding him. Bakura came with Malik’s name thick on his lips. 

Malik readjusted his grip on Bakura, slamming his hips as hard and fast as he could rock his body. His cries dropped to deep, rough groans as his orgasm devoured him. Afterward, Malik rested his forehead against Bakura’s back. They recovered as the water continued to wash over them. 

“You’re on the filthy, questionable, shower floor.” Bakura snickered, giddier than he’d ever admit. 

“I don’t care.” Malik panted. After he caught his breath he added in a quiet, almost frightened voice. “It’s the Pharaoh’s fault.” 

Bakura opened his mouth to ask _what_ was the Pharaoh’s fault, but then he realized it had something to do with the scars he’d felt on Malik’s back. Bakura eased into a sitting position away from the shower spray. He studied Malik, but made no move to catch a glimpse at his back. 

“We’ll win. Then you can do whatever you want to the bastard in retribution.” 

Malik nodded, hugging himself and looking distant. Bakura reached out, slow, slow, slow, the same way he would have approached a spooked horse. He cupped Malik’s face in his hands and lifted Malik’s gaze until it met his own. 

“We’re going to towel off, and dress, and go to the finals. I don’t know what happened, but…” Bakura swallowed, trying to stave off his own memories of fire and screams and gold. “But we’re going to make him suffer like we have. _More_ _than we have_.” 

Malik threw his arms around Bakura, weeping against the crook of his neck. Bakura stayed mindful of where he placed his hands, but he stroked and caressed Malik’s shoulders and sides to comfort him. Part of it was his host, urging Bakura to smooth his hands over Malik and reassure him, but part of it—much as Bakura wanted to deny it—was simply him. For some reason _he _wanted to comfort Malik. Perhaps because no one had ever comforted him 3,000 years ago. Perhaps because he was high off the afterglow of getting fucked on the shower floor. After a solid three minutes, Malik jerked away. 

“I don’t know where that came from.” He shoved himself to his feet, turned off the water, and grabbed a towel. “Of course we’re going to win, and I _will_ make that bastard suffer.” 

“Hey.” Bakura pulled Malik closer, until their chests bumped together. “You act like you’re above this, but I can see all the rage boiling beneath your skin.” Bakura traced his fingertips along Malik’s collar bone and whispered into his ear. “Don’t hold back, embrace it. Use it. It’s your knife, and you’re going to slip it between the Pharaoh’s ribs.” 

“I have to stay in control,” Malik whispered in return, and something about his tone sent a chill through Bakura. But just as a shadow seemed to creep into Malik’s gaze, it vanished, and Malik smirked with his usual confidence. “Didn’t you mention an after-party? Let’s hurry and claim the gods for ourselves so we can celebrate.” 

Bakura nodded with an agreeing grunt. Malik touched the bloodied, soaked bandage wrapped around Bakura’s arm. His thumb caressed the skin above the bandage. It seemed profane...the amount of gentleness in the slight brush of Malik's thumb against Bakura's skin. Ryou drank in the subtle affection of the touch, but Bakura shuddered as if the tenderness would bring about his doom. 

“Better do something about this.” Malik snapped his fingers, and more Ghouls entered the bathroom. 

They rebandaged Bakura’s arm and handed him a clean pair of clothes. Bakura snorted, but accepted the clothes and dressed. As he walked to the stadium, Bakura mulled over the last hour. More was going on with this duel than he anticipated, and as close as he'd gotten to Malik Ishtar physically, Bakura realized he didn't know much about the tomb keeper. Then again, they'd have the rest of the tournament to get acquainted, wouldn't they? 

Bakura smiled, both he and his host silently agreeing that perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea. After all, Bakura reasoned to himself, he still needed to discover the secret Malik was hiding pertaining The Door and how to open it. Bakura convinced himself that was the bulk of it—he only wanted to see Malik again for information—but when they all gathered together in front of Kaiba's blimp and he caught sight of Malik… Bakura's heart fluttered. 


End file.
